A Vote Of Confidence Part 8

TEN.

Gwen awakened the next day feeling frustrated and irritated, and no matter what she tried - Bible reading, prayer, a firm mental talking-to, scrubbing the kitchen with more vigor than was normal - she couldn't seem to shake the feeling.

As her final student, Owen Goldsmith, flew through his scales and chords on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, Gwen's thoughts returned to the previous evening at the Carter home. She still felt out of sorts over Harrison's unwillingness to answer her question about the McKinley resort. Had he meant to brush her aside or had she simply asked at an inopportune moment? Perhaps she was being overly sensitive. One of her worst faults was to bristle when she felt ignored by reason of her gender. However, she had earned that fault through experience. Too many men of her acquaintance thought she - and all females - should think of nothing but how to manage a home and raise children. Ridiculous! Did they believe G.o.d gave her a mind but didn't want her to use it?

"How was that, Miss Arlington?" Owen asked, drawing her attention back to the present.

"Very well done. You've been practicing, haven't you?"

"Yes'm. Ma says I've gotta play a lot if I wanna be good."

Gwen nodded. "Your mother is right." She flipped through a stack of sheet music. "I believe you're ready for something a bit more challenging. Here's a short piece by Frederick Chopin. Let's give it a try."

The first time through was slow and choppy. The second time through sounded much better. By next Sat.u.r.day, the boy would have it memorized. He was such a gifted student. One day in the not too distant future, he would surpa.s.s her ability to instruct him on the piano. It was no stretch to believe that if he received a proper education, if he stayed in school through all twelve grades, his talent would take him far beyond the borders of Bethlehem Springs.

With the minute hand on the mantel clock marking the hour, Owen slipped from the piano bench, then shoved his right hand into his pocket. "Almost forgot. Ma sent the money for my lessons, last week and this." He dropped the coins into Gwen's hand. "She said thanks for waitin'."

Many would not consider it a great deal of money, but Gwen knew it was a financial sacrifice for the Goldsmith family. "Tell your mother she's welcome, and remember to thank Mrs. Evans for letting you practice on her piano."

"Yes'm." He grabbed the sheet music. "See you next week." He started for the door, then stopped and spun toward her again. "Miss Arlington? You still gonna give me lessons if you're the mayor?"

"Yes, Owen. I'm still going to give you lessons."

"That's good, 'cause Ma said she wouldn't vote for you if it meant you not teachin' me no more." With that, he dashed out the door.

Gwen slid the bench under the keybed before putting the remaining sheet music into a wicker basket on the floor next to the piano. One day, Owen might play on a piano in a place like Carnegie Hall, but his grammar would need to improve before then. And that probably wouldn't happen without changes in the Bethlehem Springs educational system. The town needed more teachers, more books, perhaps even a new building.

As mayor, education for the children of Bethlehem Springs would be her top priority.

A rap on the doorjamb drew her gaze to the front door. On the opposite side of the screen stood Morgan McKinley.

"Good afternoon, Miss Arlington. Am I intruding? I saw that young fellow leave, and I was hoping I might have a moment of your time."

She moved toward the door. "Owen was my last student for the day."

"I heard him playing. Or was that you?"

She opened the screen, but rather than inviting him in, she stepped onto the porch. "How is it I can help you?" She didn't mean to sound unfriendly, but she was afraid she did.

If it bothered him, he didn't let it show. "I am in need of a secretary, and I was hoping you might be able to recommend someone."

And you couldn't ask someone else? It seemed a flimsy excuse for this visit. It seemed a flimsy excuse for this visit.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "I asked Mrs. Cheevers, but she had no suggestions. So I went over to the church, but Reverend Barker is on a pastoral visit to someone who lives near the sawmill and he isn't expected back until this evening. And then I thought of you. Since I was close by, I decided to stop and ask you."

"I might be able to come up with a few names. Give me a few days to think about it." She narrowed her eyes. "Tell me, Mr. McKinley. Do you plan to remain in Bethlehem Springs after you lose the election?"

"After?" Amus.e.m.e.nt lit his eyes. "Not if if ?" ?"

She smiled despite herself. "After, not if."

"I a.s.sure you, Miss Arlington" - he returned her smile - "I plan to spend plenty of time in Bethlehem Springs, no matter what happens in the election."

Gwen felt as if her stomach had done a somersault. Perhaps two or three. Gracious. What an odd sensation. Gracious. What an odd sensation.

Morgan enjoyed watching the emotions that played across her face. He almost thought she might like him a little. Or at least didn't dislike him as much as she'd seemed to in the past.

Reluctant to leave just yet, he glanced toward the chairs at the far end of the porch and asked, "Do you mind if we sit down?"

She surprised him by acquiescing with a nod, and he followed her as she walked to the porch swing. He settled onto one of the chairs. Briefly their gazes met before she turned to look at the flowers in her garden. A touch of pink colored her cheeks, and he realized that she was made uncomfortable by his staring.

To break the lengthening silence, he cleared his throat and asked, "How was the party at Commissioner Carter's last night?" Her eyes widened, and he knew he'd startled her with the directness of his question. "Mind telling me who was there? Or would that be aiding and abetting the opposition?"

Gwen shook her head. Whether in answer to Morgan's first question or the latter, he didn't know.

"Miss Arlington." He leaned forward in the chair. "I am not not the enemy. I don't wish you ill. Surely you could see from our articles in the newspaper that our ideas and desires for Bethlehem Springs are more alike than they are different." the enemy. I don't wish you ill. Surely you could see from our articles in the newspaper that our ideas and desires for Bethlehem Springs are more alike than they are different."

A new emotion appeared on her face - regret. "That is is what I've done, isn't it? I've made you the enemy." She released a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "I apologize, Mr. McKinley. An enemy is quite a different thing from a political opponent." what I've done, isn't it? I've made you the enemy." She released a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "I apologize, Mr. McKinley. An enemy is quite a different thing from a political opponent."

"At least it is in our case. I'd like to believe we could be friends, no matter what happens in the election."

Friendship. Was that what he wanted from her? He wasn't so sure.

"There is no reason you shouldn't know who came to the gathering last night." Gwen raised a hand to her nape and twirled a wisp of blonde hair around her index finger. "The entire board of commissioners and their wives were present. Mr. Patterson from the paper and his wife. Mr. Benson from the mill and his wife and son. Our county sheriff, Mr. Winston, and his daughter. Mr. O'Rourke from the mine. Reverend Rawlings from All Saints Presbyterian." After a pause, she added, "I believe that's everyone. No, wait. Mayor Hopkins was there too."

The guest list didn't surprise Morgan. Money and power. That's what mattered to a man like Harrison.

A frown crinkled Gwen's brow. "Are you aware that Mr. Carter believes your spa is not in the best interests of the people of Bethlehem Springs?"

"Yes, I'm aware of it. What about you? Do you believe it isn't in the town's best interests?"

"I may not understand all the ramifications." Her answer showed both wisdom and caution. Her eyes narrowed a little as she looked at him. "I know the reasons you say the town will profit by the resort, but I think I'd like to understand a little more why you want to build a resort. Here or anywhere. You haven't built a resort or a hotel anywhere else. Nor has the McKinley family been involved in those enterprises. So what makes you want to do it now and here of all places?"

Ah, she had done her own bit of investigating. Good for her.

He leaned back in his chair again. "It began with my mother's illness. I was in college when the symptoms first appeared. Periods of pain throughout her body, usually intense. A general weakness at times. At others, total exhaustion." It was his turn to look toward the flowers in Gwen's garden. "There were times when she didn't get out of bed for a week or two at a time. Different doctors diagnosed different conditions, and they tried numerous remedies. Her greatest physical relief came from the warm water therapy and ma.s.sage she received at spas in Europe."

Morgan's reply didn't paint a complete picture of his mother's struggles with debilitating pain, but he couldn't bring himself to be more descriptive.

He looked at Gwen again. "But it was her faith in G.o.d that gave her the strength and courage to endure. New Hope was her dream, and while she didn't live long enough to see it built, I mean to make it a reality in her memory. The McKinleys have enjoyed financial blessings for many generations. That's what allowed her to receive the help she did. But she dreamed of a place where anyone could come. The poor who suffer from polio. The young and old who live with incurable pain. Those without faith who need prayer."

"Do you mean to say that your spa will not cater to the wealthy?"

"Not to them alone."

There was something different about the way she looked at him now. Could it be a glimmer of admiration?

Encouraged, he said, "If you'd like, Miss Arlington, I could take you up to the site next week. Let you see for yourself."

"I would like that, Mr. McKinley. If it wouldn't be too much trouble for you."

"No trouble at all. I have some obligations to see to on Monday and Tuesday. How about Wednesday?"

She shook her head. "I give piano lessons on Wednesdays."

"Thursday then?"

"I visit my father and sister on the ranch on Thursday. We like to have lunch together."

Had she changed her mind? Were these just excuses?

"But I suppose I could meet you at the resort site and then to go the ranch from there. Would that be convenient for you?"

Morgan liked the idea of a drive with Gwen seated beside him. He wanted them to spend that time together. After all, it could be beneficial. He might be able to detail more of his plans, something he couldn't do if they arrived and departed separately.

"I have a better idea," he said. "Let me drive you up in my motorcar. When we're finished at the resort, I'll take you to the ranch. It will be much faster."

"How would I get home?"

"I'll come back for you. All you would need to do is tell me when to return."

"That would be too much to ask, Mr. McKinley."

He smiled. "You aren't asking. I'm offering."

"But - "

"I'll pick you up at nine o'clock Thursday morning. That should give us ample time at the site and still get you to the ranch for lunch."

Her expression revealed her struggle as she weighed his offer. He thought for a moment that she would refuse and was surprised by the disappointment he felt in return.

A small sigh escaped her. "All right, Mr. McKinley. I'll be ready at nine o'clock Thursday morning."

"Wear a scarf over your hat." He rose from the chair. "It gets windy in the automobile."

Gwen watched as Morgan walked down her front pathway with an easy, yard-eating gait. Once on the sidewalk, he looked back and waved before heading east on Wallula Street toward the center of town.

Had it been wise to agree to drive with him to his resort? She didn't know. But something had shifted in her heart as he talked about his mother and his plans for the spa she'd wanted to build. He had seemed anything but controlling or high and mighty. What sort of man built a spa that would cater to both the wealthy and the unfortunate?

One with a kind heart.

All the same, she wasn't sure it was wise to spend time alone with Morgan McKinley She wanted voters to elect her as the next mayor, and he wanted the same. He might not be her enemy, but still...

Was it dangerous to allow him to become a friend?

ELEVEN.

Dedrik Finster looked up from his mail sorting. "Guten Tag "Guten Tag, Fraulein Fraulein. Good you come in. You have letter from your Mutter Mutter." He turned toward the individual slots on the far wall.

Gwen crossed the post office to the counter.

"Long time between letters. Your Mutter Mutter is well, I hope." is well, I hope."

"I hope so too." She took the proffered envelope from the postmaster's hand. "Thank you."

"Is true, you will be mayor?"

"I want to be, Mr. Finster. I will do a good job. I hope you'll vote for me."

"I will decide. Vote very important."

"Yes, I know it is." While Mr. Finster's English wasn't perfect, she knew he was proud of his American citizenship and felt privileged to be able to vote in an election. "You should cast your ballot for whoever you think will serve our town the best." She gave a little wave. "Please say h.e.l.lo to Mrs. Finster for me."

"I will, Fraulein Fraulein. I tell her."

Gwen hurried down the sidewalk toward home, eager to read her letter. As happy as she was in Idaho, she still missed seeing her mother and looked forward to hearing from her. She hoped the transcontinental telephone wires would soon reach Bethlehem Springs, making it possible for her and her mother to speak to each other. It had been such a long time since she'd heard her mother's voice.

On the porch, she made a beeline for the swing. Settling onto it, she opened the envelope and unfolded the pretty stationery.

Dearest Guinevere,It's been nearly two months since I've written to you or your sister. I have meant to write often but have not had the opportunity until now.Your grandfather fell and broke his right leg in three places, and even though we hired a nurse, Mother and I see to many of his needs ourselves.

"Oh, no. Poor Grandfather."

You can imagine how out of sorts Father is, being confined to his bed, unable to go into his office whenever he pleases. His secretary (poor man) spends much of the day at the house, despite the doctor's urging that Father rest more. Mother says she cannot see why we should pay the physician good money when Father refuses to follow any of his advice.

Gwen couldn't help but smile. She could hear exactly how her grandmother would have said those words - loving but exasperated.

Before Father's accident, I was visiting with Stuart Martin and his sister at their home on Long Island. I believe you met the Martins at your coming out. Stuart has proven quite the persistent suitor, and I believe he may be on the verge of proposing marriage to me.

Gwen noticed her mother didn't mention she wasn't free to accept accept Stuart Martin's proposal. Had that even occurred to her? Stuart Martin's proposal. Had that even occurred to her?

When Gwen was about seventeen, she'd asked her mother why she never got a divorce. Elizabeth Arlington had replied that she would not remove the protection of her wedding ring until it was about to be replaced by another.

"Oh, G.o.d," Gwen whispered, an ache in her heart, "please lead my mother home to You."

With all that is going on here, I'm sure you will understand why I must decline your invitation to come stay with you in Bethlehem Springs for the summer. I do miss you terribly. Perhaps it's time for you to return to your grandparents' home. You could bring Cleopatra with you, and we could spend a lovely holiday at the sh.o.r.e.

After Gwen settled in Bethlehem Springs seven years before, she'd tried to explain to her mother why she, Elizabeth, should come for a visit, why she needed to see Cleo and let Cleo get to know her. Gwen understood the deep hurt her twin felt because of her mother's desertion. She wanted to see healing between those two.

But in their mother's mind, she'd left Idaho - a place - not her husband and daughter. That they had remained behind wasn't her fault, just an unavoidable circ.u.mstance. There was no need, Gwen's mother had written back, for her to return to Idaho when Cleo was free to visit Hoboken at any time.